


Satiated Curiosity

by snow_and_dirty_rain



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, F/M, Friends to Lovers, One Shot, Regret, Vaginal Fingering, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 22:38:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11610396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snow_and_dirty_rain/pseuds/snow_and_dirty_rain
Summary: An unused scene from 'And She Was' that would otherwise probably never see the light of day, only I feel like I want to contribute some Simon smut to the fandom. lol





	Satiated Curiosity

Simon presses the flickering nub of the match to the oil lamp until a pocket of flame gutters into life and illuminates the close quarters of the hunting lodge. Around us, the grimacing faces of stag heads mounted to the walls loom down, their eyes glittering dead and orb-like in the scarce light. I tuck my knees into my chest where I sit on the large double bed and curl my fingers into its lush fur coverlet.  
“Simon, that one looks just like you.” I gesture to the strained-looking face of a badger in mid-stride, mouth open in a toothy snarl, mouth fringed with black fur. “Who'd have known we'd find your long-lost brother here.” He glances up through thick, dark lashes with a scowl that makes me smirk, the heat rushing between my legs in a way that it really shouldn't. I prop my chin on my knees and grin back at him.  
“Well, he's definitely more handsome than me.” He says as he blows out the match and lowers himself down onto his folded-up leather jacket with an inelegant 'oof.' His legs splayed out across the floor before him, dirty boots knocking against wooden floorboards, I realise just how tall he is. He glanced towards the badger again and laughs darkly. “Nicer teeth, too. Is that your kind of guy, Savannah?” He narrows his eyes in my direction and I try not to blanch under his gaze.  
“Completely immobile and incapable of speech? For sure.” I say, and he tilts his head back, barks a laugh that shows his teeth. It's a lie, of course, because Simon's teeth flash white in the darkness like blades. I try not to watch for too long.  
“I'm sure you'll be very happy together.”  
“You're such a smug prick, are you aware of that?”  
He gawks, his face a pantomime of surprise. I chuckle, and then his expression softens as he looks at me. I feel as if I've caught him in a reverie once more. Those soft brown eyes that could melt ice dance with firelight and stare past my skin. He cocks his head, rests it upon his own shoulder. I see his tanned triceps tense as he leans back a little.  
“What I said earlier, about my wife?” He says, averting his gaze for a moment. “You... uh, please don't tell anyone.” Those soft kohl eyelashes curl on his cheeks again and I want to kiss them.  
“Of course not.” I utter, and I didn't mean for the words to be so much like a chaste kiss. Tentative and quiet and quick. “Do you... do you think about her a lot?” I ask, trying to shift the subject and fill the silence left in my wake. I then realise that perhaps I've made things worse, and swallow nervously.  
“Yeah.” He says with a gentle, of-course-I-do-you-silly-girl laugh. “What about you?”  
“Me?” I look up, caught off guard. My fingers curl tighter into the soft silver fronds of the rug.  
“The girl you were with. Morgan. Do you...?” He leans forward, long-fingered hands stretching over the floorboards. I watch the way the embers throw shadows on the wall, the black inky outline of Simon dragged to the ceiling to undulate amongst the stag heads with their dead eyes.  
“My god, all the fucking time.” I sigh. “It's like... I only knew her for several months but she got under my skin like a bed bug. I can't look at anything without remembering her face, and what she would have to say about it. When the sun comes up it makes my chest hurt. Because I'm seeing something that she should've been seeing. And I dream about her a lot.” I say, and Simon stands up, coming to sit beside me on the bed. His shoulder brushes my shoulder and the gesture is so comfortable that I don't even flinch.  
“What was she like?” He enquires.  
“A brat.” I laugh, and he flashes a grin.  
“Really?” Those soft Bambi eyes making me divulge all kinds of things again.  
“Not all the time, and not in a bad way, but yeah. She was a brat. When I found her at camp, she was on a canoe down by the river at the helm of this little paddle boat and she was ordering the other kids around. She had a big stick and she was using it as an oar – I think she had seen how Venetian gondolas worked on a documentary and was trying to imitate it. She was shouting then they hit the shore and the boat rocked so hard that she fell into the lake. I was on my lunch break, just getting a coffee outside and we all laughed raucously to see her fall in because she was so belligerent. Funny, sharp, and weirdly wise for her age, but belligerent all the same. We laughed, then we waited for her to surface from the water. Except, she didn't. And then my manager ran out and asked who had fallen in the lake – Morgan Quill, I said – and his face turned this awful shade of green. And in that moment I realised she couldn't swim, and... well, I ran out into the water and dived under. And she was groping at me, trying to surface. I got her out, and she was fine. I remember she huffed out a mouthful of river water, shook out some pond weed from her yellow rain-boots and told me to fuck off.” I grin, and Simon laughs. A hearty, full sound.  
“Wow. She sounds like a good kid.”  
“She was. To be honest, I thought she was kind of amazing even back then. I had always wanted an older brother when I grew up, but after that day I realised that what I wanted even more was a little sister.” I realise my cheeks are sore from smiling, and then I allow it to fade, and watch my freckles knees bump together nervously. “So yeah. That's how we met.”  
There's a silence that follows, and I watch a circle of fruit flies dance and flicker around the waning light of the oil lamp, bumping against once another like little flecks of dust.  
“I met Jenny at a Salsa dancing class.” He says eventually, the ghost of a smile playing around his mouth.  
“No way. You Salsa danced?”  
“You fucking bet I Salsa danced. All the ladies in the club soaked their panties over it.” He says, and I guffaw. Which, funnily enough, I didn't know I was capable of doing. “By day I sold sub-prime mortgages, by night I was making women fall over each other with lust.”  
“Did you have this back then, or...?” I gesture to my top lip, biting back a grin. “Y'know, just trying to draw up the right mental image. Because if you did, you'd look like El Nombre.”  
“El who?”  
“El Nombre!” I wildly gesticulate flapping a matador's cloak, and he shakes his head. “You don't remember this?” I stand up, trying to do my best impression of an anthropomorphic Mexican gerbil, mostly by flapping and counting to five in a horrible accent.  
“No, I can't say I do.” He says through laughter, hand covering his mouth. His eyes are glittering with tears, and I feel my heart swell with pride. I plant my hands on my hips.  
“Well, you're too fucking old, then.” I sit down heavily. “El Nombre was a Mexican gerbil who was also a man but mostly taught people in his hometown how to count.”  
“In my defence, that does sound a little niche.” He wipes the tears from his eyes. “But you play him very well.”  
I take an extravagant bow as Simon unlaces his boots and drops them to the floor with a thud. Clots of mud scatter across the floor, and I do the same in silence. For some reason, my fingers fumble with the laces and my mouth feels suddenly dry.  
“I reckon we've only got a few minutes of light left. We should try and sleep.”  
“Do you want to take watches, or...?” My pale hands shake a little, and I reach my hands underneath my shirt to unclasp my bra. Even with my back turned, I can feel Simon's eyes watching me.  
“We're so far out. I don't think anyone's gonna find us here, at least not without setting off the wires.”  
“Okay.” I whisper, hands slowly drawing the pale lace away from my body. Slip the straps over my arms, then pull it out from under my shirt and toss it to the floor as quickly as possible. My cheeks burn and my pulse rockets as I realise that he must've seen the flash of white in the dark room. I hear him unbuttoning his shirt and slowly turn around to find his eyes fixated on me. Dark and blown and hungry. He quickly averts them and works the shirt off his shoulders quickly. But I'm left reeling from the look in his eyes, my mouth agape. Was I imagining that look?  
“Do you wanna... top and tail? Is that what it's called?” He asks, swallowing. I see his Adam's apple bob, and notice how prominent the veins in his neck are. How I want to reach out and touch them. In his undershirt, I can see his russet shoulders and corded forearms in the firelight.  
“Do you want my feet in your face?” I quip.  
“Do you want your face in my face?” He raises his eyebrows. “Because that's the alternative.”  
“You might do something freaky and eat my feet. I don't know if I trust you enough for that.” I smile, and just as he grins the light in the room fizzles out. We're left ensconced in darkness.  
“Fair's fair. Face in face, then.”  
Several minutes of rustling and clambering in the darkness elapse, and soon I'm curled underneath the warm, musk-smelling covers. I can practically feel Simon's presence making the bed palpitate, and my body remains tensely coiled, feet tucked up for fear our skin might touch. I stare numbly into the blackness, trying to differentiate between the different stag heads mounted on the far wall. Then I hear Simon's voice, low and resonant, murmur to me.  
“Jenny would've loved you.” He says, and I can hear the sleepy smile in his voice. I say nothing, fully aware that he knows the way that makes my heart race. I allow myself to uncoil and fall into thoughtlessness.

I can smell pancakes being cooked downstairs. I curl my toes dazedly, distantly aware of the sound of sizzling in a pan, of voices in the kitchen. My mother laughs, and I hope she's putting blueberries on my pancake. I must've left the window on the latch because I can hear one of the finches from the cherry bush rustling its wings on the windowsill again. It must be Sunday. It smells and feels like a Sunday. Something warm against my face. I wonder briefly if I'm pressed against a pillow but then it shifts slightly, and something moves between my thighs. Feels good. I make a soft keening noise in the back of my throat and rock my hips against the thing between my legs, cocking my knee to bring it closer to where I want it. My arm wrapped around something incredibly soft. Firm. Hot. I can smell him, completely consuming my senses to the point of rapturously losing my grip on reality. A hand coiled idly in my hair, carding fingers through where it curls against my neck. His shoulder underneath my hand. I rock my hips a little harder, mewling into the fabric of his shirt. He grumbles – a deep, velvety baritone – and my clit throbs at the sound. His hand is on my ass, pushing underneath clothes, and I want it – fuck, I want it. Promisingly big fingers grip one of my ass cheeks and I sigh, pushing my clit harder against his leg until I feel something bulging against my abdomen. My mouth waters as I imagine what the flushed, dripping head of his cock must taste like.  
He groans again as his fingers find my ass, toy with it for just a moment. Then he shifts slowly, pushing on, finding my slit and pushing one achingly large finger inside me. I moan, open-mouthed, against his chest as he swirls the digit inside my pussy. He makes such a beautiful noise of satisfaction that I feel heady, as if standing on the edge of a dizzyingly high precipice. My hand falls from his shoulder to claw at the front of his pants, rubbing where his cock strains against the fabric. I can feel red morning light glowing through my eyelids and I groggily blink myself awake, expecting my childhood bed. The man wrapped around me is tanned, dark, long-legged... Simon.  
I jerk spasmodically awake, eyes suddenly wide. I feel as if the room around me is spinning. Tangled in charcoal grey fur, our bodies are intertwined, my pale legs wrapped around his copper ones. His thighs the size of my waist. His finger idly pushing inside me. I shakily grip the front of his shirt, looking up to see him half-awake, animated only by desire. His semi-open eyes scarcely aware of the reality of the situation. His lips are shockingly close, and I gasp as I see his tented pants, his cock pushing against my stomach.  
“Simon, wake up.” I murmur, only half wanting him to hear. He presses that finger deep inside me once more and I arch against his body, moaning a little too loud, my stomach coiling with tight heat. This seems to bring him to reality, because he groggily begins to shift, eyes opening.  
“What? What're you-” His face flushes pink as he looks down to where our bodies are tangled. My nipples pebbling against my shirt. His hand wrapped around my sex. “Shit. Oh my god.” He moves to remove his hand, but I seize his wrist hard. “You want me to...?”  
I rock my hips desperately by way of response, rational thought long abandoned. This wasn't the way I wanted this to go. But...  
“God, please.” I keen, and then that hunger I noticed last night returns to his eyes. “I need this. I mean – if – if you want to.”  
“I want to.” He nods. “Fuck, of course I do.” He looks at me as if he were looking at a painting hung in a gallery. The wordless awe on his face makes me look away coyly, and he removes his hand.  
“What?” I say quickly, but he shushes me. His sleepy fingers fumble with my zipper, but he proceeds in removing my jeans. Gently shimmies them down my legs, and I wrestle them off my ankles. He wraps one of those muscular arms around my waist and drags me closer, tilting my face towards him. He meets my gaze for a second – lidded, black, molten – before kissing me. I giggle quietly against his moustache, and he draws back for a moment.  
“Are you laughing at my moustache?” He asks with narrowed eyes, pursing his lips, and I grin.  
“Maybe a bit. Feels tickly.” I say, and he smirks, making sure to kiss me with more fervour this time. My god. The short stubble on his jaw drags against my cheek, whilst his moustache is somehow soft. He opens his mouth and I find myself doing the same, his tongue swirling around mine. I nip his bottom lip between my teeth and tug on it, and I feel him growl. His chest weighs heavy on mine and my heart races as I feel his moans reverberate through him like a bass riff through the floor. His hand comes to rub me through my panties, and I roll my hips up to meet his hand.  
“Not so funny now, is it?” He croons in my ear. The smug bastard. “No... it's not.”  
“Just... just-”  
“Just what, sugar?” He softly kisses my cheek, and I shiver in pleasure at the pet-name. “Tell me.” He growls against my ear, and my hands seize in his shirt. I had not expected him to be like this. Not in a million years.  
“I – uhm-” I bite my lip between my teeth as his nose grazes my cheekbone. His breath soft on my skin. He circles my clit through the thin lace, glancing down towards my sex in such a ravenous way that I close my legs like a vice around his hand.  
“You okay, sweetheart?” He says softly, drawing back to get a good look at my face. Those brown eyes are soft and inquisitive again.  
“Yeah.” I laugh, swallowing. “I just. Honestly? I didn't expect you to be this...” I gasp, searching for the right word. “Y'know.”  
He chuckles, and I let my legs relax once more, falling open to his touch. “Sorry. I wasn't exactly expecting this myself, but – well, you asked for it.” He smirks, mouth tilting into a dangerous smile once more. “So don't go being coy with me now.”  
By way of a response, I hook my fingers into the waistband of my panties and quickly whip them off, throwing them across the room.  
“Shit, I sort of wanted them to land on that dude's head over there.” I say, gesturing to the badger. My panties, however, hit the ground.  
“You can have a go with your shirt, too.”  
“You think you're so smooth.” I say, dragging my shirt over my shoulders and dunking it on his head. He grins, setting it down carefully over his own shirt folded on the floor, before returning his fingers to my skin. He presses kisses to my collarbone as his finger dips back into my pussy, making me squirm against the soft coverlet.  
“You're so fair.” He whispers. “You must burn real easy, huh?” Kisses my stomach. “You've got skin like porcelain.” His finger crooks inside me, and I mewl, curling my toes. I move my hand to circle my clit, watching as he pumps his index finger in and out. The sight is somehow transfixing, and I imagine I could watch it for hours. His corded forearm tensing as his thick finger curls again and again into my pussy.  
“Want another finger.” I murmur breathlessly, and he nuzzles deeper into my navel.  
“Ask me properly and then we'll see.”  
“Please?”  
He laughs, shaking his head. Not good enough. Okay.  
I sit up and pull his face towards mine, kissing him roughly, teeth clashing against teeth. I tangle my tongue with his, panting into his mouth.  
“Please, please can I have another finger, Simon?” I utter, and he grins in a way that almost makes me nervous.  
“Sure, sugar. Since you asked so nicely.” He twists a second finger inside me, gently pumping them deeper and deeper inside me until his knuckles are growing slick against my slit. “Look at that pretty little pussy, taking Daddy's big fingers so well.” God, not him too. But the way that Simon snarls them into my ear, his lips pressing encouraging kisses into my hair, makes me heady with arousal. Perhaps this is something I like after all. I desperately work my fingers over my clit, feeling my eyes half-close. My pulse consumes my entire consciousness, the tight coil of heat in my belly making me squirm on the mattress. I swear I can hardly see.  
“God, the way you talk-” I manage to utter, lost.  
“You like it?”  
“Yes.”  
This seems to spur him on, and he starts pounding his curled fingers against my pussy in a way that makes me violently shake. Holy shit holy shit holy shit. My stomach erratically clenches as I hold my head up to watch him fuck me, slick fingers making obscene wet noises. His hand bumps mine, and with his spare arm he seizes my wrist and brings it up to lay beside my head.  
“Let – me-” He grunts with exertion, and I collapse back against the mattress, vaguely aware that my entire body feels like a bed of live-wires. He crooks his fingers hard as he presses the pad of his thumb against my clit, drawing it upwards slightly, and suddenly I'm gripping the headboard and writhing as if possessed.  
“S-Simon – I'm gonna-”  
“C'mon, kitten. Cum all over Daddy's fingers. Cum!” He mutters breathlessly, and my hands find his hair and grip it like a vice as my orgasm rolls through me. I distantly feel myself spasming on the bed. Hear myself cry out. See the intensity of his gaze as he watches me buck on the bed, those doe-brown eyes black and famished for me. He presses his mouth to my temple as I start to quiver, feeling myself slick his fingers. He continues to slowly pump them in and out, and I coil my hands into the front of his shirt. The silver chain around his neck slips from his collar and a gleaming O of white gold winks in the morning-light. A wedding ring. Chest still heaving, I catch sight of the ring and stare, lifting a finger to touch it.  
He glances down. Wordlessly tucks it back into his shirt before kissing my temple, warm breath furling across my cheek.  
“Just look at you.” He sighs, smiling against me. He ducks his head to kiss behind my ear, then sucks on my earlobe. “Fucking soaked my fingers.” He gently withdraws them and brings them to his mouth, sucking the glistening cum off his digits. I watch him as if from underwater, my chest feeling as if someone looped a lasso around it and began to tug. I see the wedding ring in my mind's eye, and sit up, looking away. My god. What have I done?  
“You wanna let me eat that pussy, sweetheart?” He asks, and I bite down on my bottom lip, hard, as I feel a lump in my throat. He runs a gentle hand over my tremulous thigh. “Sweetheart... you okay?”  
“Uhm.” I croak, realising how hoarse my voice has become. I lick my lips, which feel tacky from sleep. I've finally gotten what I wanted. But it stings. I try to speak, but no words come out. I merely shake my head and allow my hair to cover my face. I bring my legs together, embarrassed.  
“Savannah?” The concern in his voice makes the tears tipple over, and I hold my breath to make sure I don't make any noise. I don't want him to know, to see. God, I messed up... “Hey, look at me. Please.”  
No. No, I don't want to look at you. I didn't want it to happen like this. I lost control of myself. His fingers gently tap the underside of my chin, and he guides my face towards him. His cheeks are flushed, his hair tousled and mussed in that just-woken-up way, and those eyes are anxiously flickering across my face.  
“Shit, I'm sorry.” He exhales, looping an arm under the crook of my knees, the other around my waist, and bringing me easily onto his lap. The action makes my pulse race, and I feel his taught arms wrap around me. The scent of him – warm sheets and aftershave and the blue agave of tequila – completely overwhelms my senses. And on him I smell myself, my clothes, my hair, my body. It shocks me. “Was it bad?” Words said softly as he smooths a hand over my head.  
“No.” I whisper, shaking my head.  
“Then... what is it?” I can feel his searching gaze burrow into me, and I spasmodically clench and unclench my toes so I have something to focus on other than him. I say nothing, unable to articulate even a small fraction of what I'm feeling. The silence settles for several moments before he says, very softly, almost as if he doesn't want to hear an answer; “Do you regret it?”  
Again, silence overcomes me. After several moments, I feel his arms slacken around me. He exhales quietly, entirely deflated.  
“I...”  
“You don't have to say anything, Savannah.” He says. “I understand.”  
But I really don't think he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this tiny lil thing! Constructive crit welcome as always. <3


End file.
